


Tuckered Out

by Th3gab3 (orphan_account)



Series: Gab3's Roadhog week stories [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aka: I wanna sit down with Mako and rest with him cuz he deserves a rest tbh, Day Three: Favorite Emote, Gen, Roadhog Week, im so sorry mako, this is for his sitting emote and i write about him running for his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Th3gab3
Summary: The life of a Junker can leave you pretty damn exhausted, especially when half of it is spent in complete terror.





	Tuckered Out

Fatigue riddled Mako. It wormed its way through his body, seeping into his bones. The pain of running told him to sit and lay where he was, close his eyes, until they could be closed forever. He just wanted it all to stop. The fighting, the chasing, the running, the exhaustion. He just wanted a break.

Needless to say, he was tuckered out.

His bike was ruined, no chance to even get any scrap from the wreckage. He was bleeding and limping, his hog-drogen only helping so much. He could only smell tears and blood in his mask, walking the line of throwing up. He was just so  _tired_.

But a whooping cheer and the mechanical roar of motors told him he needed to keep running. The whistles and bangs of bullets flying at, above, and around him was like a whip crack, keeping him running. He was panting and sweating, covered in dirt and gore. His eyes desperately scanned the area, looking for something,  _anything_ that could help him now.

There! It was the ruins of yet another ghost town, one of many that littered the hellish Outback. Gathering what wavering energy he had left, he charged towards it, the Junkers behind him taunting and yelling. They couldn't follow him in there with most of their rigs, but that just started the hunt on foot, sniffing out the terrified prey. 

Mako had finally managed to hide, cowering behind a dilapidated building when a dust storm kicked up. He saw this as a chance to think of a plan while they were blinded, breathing in another can of hog-drogen, throwing it as hard as he could to cause a distraction. It worked, as the small party that went in after him headed to where they heard the sound, obviously trying to catch him off guard. He headed in a different direction, entering a ruined house, going up the stairs and flopping down on the trashed ground with a large  _thump_. He crawled slowly towards the wall, sitting up and leaning against it, taking off his mask and panting, gasping, crying. He could hear them outside roaming the city, each step a thunderstorm, each soft whisper and vicious battle cry. He stayed there until nightfall, when the rest of the Junker gang had joined up with the party.

They had to rest for the night, and decided to use the plaza of the town as camp before they searched around the rest of the town during the day. This was just what Mako needed, waiting until they had all drank themselves unconscious, with only a few stumbling guards to keep watch. He readied his scrap crank, and exited the building, making his way towards the temporary encampment. One of the roaming members noticed him, drunkenly screaming the others awake. They all gathered, guns at the ready, laughing and jeering. The leader was in the middle of some speech that Mako didn't care about, and opened fire, the Junkers either scrambling for cover, or getting blasted to ribbons. He cranked and cranked until there was nothing left of his scrap ammo, or of the enemies. 

Panting, he sat down again, in the middle of the aftermath. After a while, he breathed in another can, patched himself up, and left.

For Mako, a day that left him tired was one he considered a better day.


End file.
